I’ve aired it here before, and if I haven’t I will now: almost every comic book movie bores me to suicidal tendencies. They make zero narrative sense and are the most cynical kind of anti-art — soulless, silly, self-inflated money machines. They’re a cineplex pox.
That said …
A couple of weeks ago auteur Martin Scorsese volunteered his opinion about Marvel comic book movies. Here are his now notorious words, which sparked howls of defensive dialogue, mostly from comic book movie writers and directors (naturally):
“That’s not cinema. Honestly, the closest I can think of them, as well made as they are, with actors doing the best they can under the circumstances, is theme parks. It isn’t the cinema of human beings trying to convey emotional, psychological experiences to another human being.”
As one might exclaim in the cartoony Marvel universe: kapow!
Then, yesterday, Francis Ford Coppola, Scorsese’s esteemed comrade in canonical ‘70s Hollywood, hurled perhaps a bigger grenade into the controversy:
“When Martin Scorsese says that the Marvel pictures are not cinema, he’s right because we expect to learn something from cinema, we expect to gain something, some enlightenment, some knowledge, some inspiration. … I don’t know that anyone gets anything out of seeing the same movie over and over again. Martin was kind when he said it’s not cinema. He didn’t say it’s despicable, which I just say it is.”
Not enough? Lauded British filmmaker Ken Loach offered his two pence this week about superhero films:
“I find them boring. They’re made as commodities … like hamburgers … It’s about making a commodity which will make profit for a big corporation — they’re a cynical exercise. They’re a market exercise and it has nothing to do with the art of cinema.”
(What superhero movies do I like, you might ask? I love “The Dark Knight,” “Logan,” “Iron Man,” “Unbreakable,” and one of the early “Spider-Man” flicks, I can’t remember which one because there’s like 12.)
2 thoughts on “Movies, yes. Art, not even.”
“… like hamburgers …”
You eat one. Five minutes later you’re hungry again. Eat the next one. Still not satisfied but without knowing it you’re already hooked on the secret ingredient. You eat the third one, still as unsatisfyin as its predecessors but by now you’re not feeling too well anymore. Down in your stomach where the hallow burgers fight a losing war against the emptiness. Still you neeed more … until you turn into a fatty little blobb … a puking, farting fatty blobb. 😮
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This is unappetizingly delicious. A typical blast, a gas, from you Orca Flotta!